


man on the move

by wherechester



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Castiel in the Bunker, Fluff, M/M, Men of Letters Bunker, Sam Winchester Knows, Star Gazing, The Impala - Freeform, cas is a huge softie, cas likes drives let’s be real, castiel is a fry thief, dean doesn’t know what the hell he’s doing, dean is a huge softie, drives just to drive
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-03-25
Updated: 2018-03-25
Packaged: 2019-04-08 04:33:50
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,591
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14097312
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/wherechester/pseuds/wherechester
Summary: Dean wakes with one initial thought, and that thought is, wow this is one shitty fucking mattress. It’s lumpy. It’s got sporadic ridges that dig into his back like annoying jabbing fingers. And it’s damp. What the fuck. That’s when Dean realizes the bed is not a bed at all. It’s grass. And dirt. And fucking rocks.





	man on the move

**Author's Note:**

> hello all. here’s another. because people were asking. this is fluff without plot, because dean likes driving and cas likes to whine. bickering and fry sharing included. 
> 
> also, if you’re into it, you can find me on tumblr as wherechester. ;)

Dean wakes with one initial thought, and that thought is, wow this is one shitty fucking mattress. It’s lumpy. It’s got sporadic ridges that dig into his back like annoying jabbing fingers. And it’s damp. What the fuck. 

That’s when Dean realizes the bed is not a bed at all. It’s grass. And dirt. And fucking rocks. He’s getting too old for this shit. Dean rises up on his elbows, and yes, he is definitely laying in the middle of a clearing. There’s grass damp with early morning dew stuck to his arms. And his shirt. And his bare feet. What the fuck. 

There’s a tan lumpy thing curled up beside him. Wrapped around itself like a cat. Dean really has no clue what the hell is going on. Until he does. 

“Son of a bitch.” That’s no lump. Because that lumpy curled up thing has dark mussed up hair on its head. And definitely is named Castiel. There’s wet grass in his hair and dirt stains on the trench. Dean knows exactly why he woke up in a goddamn field. And it’s really a little pathetic. Mildly sweet, but pathetic by Dean’s standards. 

Dean really had no idea this would happen the evening before when he had asked, “Cas, ever been on a drive just to drive?” And the angel had peered up from his book, looking at Dean through dark lashes and a mildly furrowed brow. “No, I have never driven purely for the pleasure of it.” A signature deadpan before recasting his gaze on the book in his nimble fingers. What the fuck language is that. Dean just sees symbols and shit that would take him a week to translate, but Cas is immersed. He has gone back to scanning the pages inhumanly fast. Clearly uninterested in Dean’s musings. 

“Let’s go. On a drive.” Cas looks up at him again, feigning his usual aura of mild annoyance. He sets the page down, apparently ready to humor Dean’s prodding. “Where?” Dean laughs. “I don’t know Cas. That’s the point of a drive just to drive. You don’t really know where you’re going. You just go.” Cas raises an eyebrow. Dean is pretty sure he’s going to say no, then he’s going to have to go hole up in his room the rest of the evening because rejection just does that to a guy. 

“I suppose I’ll go on this drive.” Dean has no idea where he’s going with this. He huffs, “Well okay. Let’s drive then.” Dean has no fucking clue what he’s doing. 

There’s a fruitless attempt at coercing Sam into this drive, because “you really shouldn’t be just burning all that fuel for nothing Dean. Bad for the environment.” A half hearted of jab about Sam being a damn tree hugger later, Dean and Cas find themselves sitting in the Impala. And Dean still has no fucking clue what he’s doing. 

“Where to buddy?” Cas looks at him like he’s grown a second head. Dean looks back at him, makes a face back that is totally not childish. “What? Jesus, Cas. If looks could kill.” Cas snorts. “You coerced me into this drive. I was under the impression you had some sort of destination in mind.” Cas is fucking with him now. He does this, the angel loves being conveniently insufferable. Dean kind of wants to punch him. With his mouth. 

They finally get on the road, only after a few more minutes of Cas being fondly bitchy. Winter is just beginning to creep into spring and the air is gently crisp, smelling like distant rain and just warm enough that Dean rolls down the windows and hangs an idle hand against the metal of the Impala. He still has no idea what the fuck he’s doing. 

He peeks at Cas, whose expression has softened. His dark hair is wonderfully messy, all thanks to the yanking hands of the evening breeze that flows through the open windows. A small smirk plays at Dean’s mouth. Castiel can pull the bitchy angel card all he wants, but Dean can see him falling victim to the relaxing rumble of the engine. 

They drive aimlessly for another half hour, talking comfortably, all good natured bickering and small laughs. Until Dean’s stomach decides to interject its opinion. “I’m fucking starved, man. Whaddya say we stop for dinner?” Cas shrugs, “I don’t eat Dean.” Dean rolls his eyes, “Okay asshole. Don’t even think about asking for a single one of my fries then.” This is a conversation they’ve had far more than once. And a certain angel’s hands still some how end up lingering in his plate anyway. 

“Damnit Cas, what did I say about the fries? I thought you didn’t eat, asshole.” Cas only shrugs, he’s about fifteen fries deep now and Dean really wants to kick him in the shin. He’s childish that way sometimes, sue him. He polishes off the remainder of his burger, and waves his white flag, pushing what’s left of his fries into Cas’ space. And Cas gets this smug look on his face, clearly celebrating his win. Like he always does when they have dinner together. He’s lucky Dean would burn the world down for him. 

A full stomach and some more bickering later, they leave the diner, bumping shoulders as they walk back to the Impala. “You can pretend to be a bitch all you want Cas, but I know you like hanging out with me.” Dean’s grin is shit eating as he shoves Cas’ shoulder gently. Cas finally breaks with a small quirk of the lips. “You’ve caught me.” His voice is softer now, Dean thinks he might puke. He’s embarrassingly weak when Cas gets soft with him. 

Dean looks at him, feeling himself getting fuzzy around the edges. He’s a damn sucker and he knows it. He claps Cas on the shoulder, “Come on, I know something we can do.” 

Fifteen minutes and a handful of grimace worthy pot holes later they find themselves sitting side by side in a field. The night is just beginning to creep up on them, and Dean knows he’s going to have about twenty five mosquito bites and a sore ass from his throne of rocks in the morning. Cas huffs, because he’s impatient. The guy may be a few millennia old, but he’s one of the biggest babies Dean has ever met. “What are we doing Dean?” Dean throws him a look. “Star gazing. Duh. Figured a celestial creature such as yourself would appreciate something like that.” Cas just makes a soft sound, clearly satisfied with Dean’s reasoning. 

Once night finally falls, Dean realizes he’s a fucking idiot. Because it’s overcast, and you can see approximately two fucking stars through the haze of the clouds. “Well this plan went to shit.” He is has taken to laying back with his arms behind his head, Cas sits beside him like the ever loyal companion he is, and laughs. “You’ve had worse plans. Perhaps you can find comfort in that. Besides, I’ve walked among the stars, I’m not particularly heartbroken I can’t see them.” Cas is soft, mouth turned up ever so slightly as speaks. Dean looks at him incredulously. “Fine okay, fucking show off.” Dean snorts. 

Some time after, Cas settles beside him, mimicking Dean’s position. They talk. And talk. And somehow Dean’s head has found Castiel’s shoulder. And somehow his eye lids became as heavy as a small child. 

And now, here he is. Grass in places grass shouldn’t be, the ass of his jeans caked in dirt, and a back stiff enough to use as a bridge. He glances at the figure beside him, Cas clearly had become relaxed enough to doze off alongside him. The angel isn’t usually one for sleeping, but Dean catches him dozing at times he’s feeling particularly comfortable. “Shit.” 

Dean has a whole screen worth of messages from Sam, dean where the hell are you guys, are u fucking kidding text me back dude, dean I’m serious wtf are you guys doing. He groans, fingers tapping away, we r fine. fell asleep. be home in 20. The reply buzz comes almost immediately, wtf??? fell asleep? where?

Dean will save further explanation for later, he turns his attention to the bundle of angel beside him. “Hey, Mr. I Don’t Sleep, get your ass up. Sam is losing his shit because we stayed out past curfew.” He gives Cas a little shove, just for good measure. His hand comes away with dirt on it. Dean really wants to laugh hysterically. 

Cas is all glares once he is roused from his sleep, doze, whatever the hell he calls it. His hair is half flat, half porcupine. Dean still has no idea what the hell he’s doing. A laugh bubbles from his chest, “Rough night, Cas?” Dean would burn the world down for this asshole. 

They eventually arrive home at the bunker after a twenty minute ride consisting of Cas grumbling about coffee and his dirty trench coat. Sam looks at them as they walk in, in all their dirty damp and grassy glory, and laughs his fucking ass off. A few good natured fuck offs and eye rolls later, Dean excuses himself to the shower, because shit if this grass isn’t making him want to claw his skin off. 

Dean doesn’t know what the hell he’s doing with Cas. But he does know that he would burn everything down for the guy. And that drives just to drive are his favorite past time.


End file.
